Plans May Change
by civillove
Summary: Blainchel wedding planner AU. Rachel is the wedding planner for Kurt and Blaine's wedding. Blaine is bi. That is all. 11,930 words


Blainchel; wedding planner AU. Blaine is bi that is all.

11,930 words

_-December-_

He's late.

Honestly, it's typical at this point. Expected-and so is the disappointed and frayed annoyance on his fiancé's face when he walks into Starbucks a half n hour late. He hadn't actually forgotten this time that there was an appointment to keep-like he had done so many other times. Running late is starting to become a theme for him and he can tell that Kurt's had it just up to his breaking point about it. He had lost track of time this time around, he hadn't forgotten-ever since he was hired as an actual teacher (_not_ a substitute, thanks very much) he's been working twice as hard to get everything in order.

It's overwhelming, more so than he thought it would be, having his own space. It's his room and his lessons and his students and his time spent doing what he had always wanted to do and it's terrifying it's all happening for him and so soon. Two years as a substitute teacher and a spot opening up in the same school, the principal _asking _for him to interview for the spot and ending the year solidifying a place in the district is the most amount of good luck Blaine thinks he's ever gotten.

Well, except meeting Kurt.

But that's a different story.

Besides, that good luck seems to be wearing thin on him when he barrels into Starbucks, nearly hitting an old woman with his satchel as he parades over to the table near the back, his soon to be husband glaring at him like a he shot a box of kittens. The wedding planner doesn't look thrilled that he's late either but she at least smiles politely (and prettily he might add) when he approaches the table.

"I'm _so _sorry." He says in a rush, kissing Kurt on the cheek as he sits down, running his fingers through the messy top of curls on his head.

His scalp is warm from sprinting down the street from his car and he can feel the heat of the coffee shop, steamed, thick and palpable, starting to make sweat bead on his forehead. He knows Kurt doesn't need, or want, an explanation about why he's late but he figures he owes it to the slender woman in front of him. Sitting alone with a pissed off Kurt when all his fiancé's been talking about for the past week is what shapes the butter should be in and what kind of flowers they're going to have for this wedding is a fate worse than death that shouldn't be placed on anyone.

"I'm sorry," He says again after he's caught his breath and he feels more presentable. "I don't know if my fiancé told you but I just got a teaching job not too long ago." He clears his throat and glances over at the barista, wondering if he can sneak away to order a coffee or if Kurt's going to murder him for that too. Well, he can't kill him twice. "I'm still working out the kinks of managing my own classroom."

"I see you haven't worked in changing your clothes after work." Kurt wrinkles his nose, taking in his most likely disheveled appearance.

Blaine blushes a pretty pink, the tips of his ears going red as he looks down at his faded blue jeans and navy blue t-shirt streaked with all kinds of paint and charcoal. He shrugs his one shoulder and smiles sheepishly at the wedding planner.

"Fourth graders aren't exactly the cleanest with paint and other art supplies."

She laughs, the sound warm and inviting. "It's no problem, Mr. Anderson, honestly." She sticks her hand out and he instantly reaches to clasp hers in his. He squeezes and nods his head, the palm of her hand resting comfortingly against his own-fitting in a way that should make him uncomfortable.

But it doesn't.

"My name is Rachel Berry, I'll be planning your wedding for June."

Blaine smiles slowly, nodding his head. "Aren't you in for a treat." It's not posed as a question on purpose.

Kurt clears his throat, stepping on his foot and Blaine swears under his breath, dropping her hand. He shifts in his chair, listening to Kurt job-drop his occupation, yanking a neatly organized portfolio from his back to the left of him against the wall. If he had a nickel for everytime Kurt mentioned to bring up his job in mixed company he'd have enough money to buy enough art supplies for the state of New York. He doesn't roll his eyes, he swears to God he doesn't, but Rachel is smiling, trying to hide it while she sips on her tea-so fuck, maybe he does roll his eyes but he's just glad Kurt hasn't seemed to notice.

It's not that Blaine isn't proud that Kurt's landed a job at Vogue, he's doing what he loves and starting to build enough prestige to gain a reputation for support in starting his own clothing line-but he's started to get this air about him that bothers him sometimes. It's like when he tries to pick out his outfit for him in morning-or even worse tries to throw out some of his clothes or donate them to Goodwill without asking him about it first.

_There's only so many grandpa sweaters you can own, Blaine. _

He loves him, honestly he does, to death even. But sometimes Blaine can't help but consider telling Kurt how much working at Vogue has turned him into a snob.

"I have some ideas already that I wanted to discuss for you. I've narrowed it down to a few shades of purple for the bridesmaids and groomsmen." Blaine bites his lip and watches Kurt flip open to a page in his portfolio with swatches of fabric stapled to the edges. He's never seen so many different variations of one color before. "I've got thistle, mauve, orchid, heliotrope..."

He glances at Rachel when Kurt stops mid-sentence, realizing the woman must have made a face to get him to halt in presenting his categorized purples.

"What? Too many shades?" Kurt asks, frowning slightly.

"Oh, no, I was going to say that there obviously aren't enough." Rachel smiles slowly, obviously teasing him and Blaine snorts.

He sinks down in his chair just the slightest when he feels Kurt glare at him, boring holes into the side of his head.

Rachel clicks her tongue off the roof of her mouth and hums. "Let's start with something simple, shall we?" She smiles at Blaine. "Where did you two meet?"

Blaine opens his mouth to speak but Kurt jumps in, retelling the story in intimate detail, taking the wind from his sails. Rachel's eyes linger on him a moment before glancing at Kurt, who is describing their whirlwind romance about how they met in highschool and have been in love ever since. Blaine looks at the menu again, drumming his fingers on the table top, waiting for Kurt to finish and for Rachel to ask another question.

"That sounds...well, _very _romantic." He wonders if sounding interested in her client's love lives is part of her job description. "So basically, what I'm going to do for you is put together a checklist, a very detailed checklist, along with a budget and directory. There will be two sets of directory, one for all the planning-caterers, photographers, videographers, beautician, florists, bakers, etcetera, and the other is for your invite list."

Blaine licks his lips and leans up. "And you'll have enough time to do all this? I know six months isn't as early as you would have liked-"

She laughs again, leaning forward, he can smell her vanilla scented lotion...or perfume, he's not sure. "Mr. Anderson..this is my job, you know. I can handle it." She winks at him and he can feel the edges of his mouth pull up. "I welcome challenges." She says, looking over at Kurt who is patiently waiting for another question he can answer.

There's a moment that's charged with something right between them, static electricity maybe, maybe something else, the shrill of coffee grinders filling the space and the opportunity of silence.

"So, let's start with the guest list. How big are we thinking?" She opens up a professional looking binder in front of her, rolling up the sleeves of her offwhite dress suit.

"Big." Kurt says instantly. "Over two hundred."

Blaine's mouth falls open. "We barely know two hundred people, what are you pulling people from the street?"

"We'll need all the space we can get if you invite that best friend of yours. Sebastian's ego takes up fifteen chairs at _least_."

He glares at him but says nothing, turning his head to stare at that goddamn menu again like it's got an answer about how to plan a wedding with a control freak as a fiancé. He can hear Rachel clicking her pen a few times before scribbling down a number.

"Alright, have a venue in mind?"

"Central Park." Kurt's rapid fire answers are a little unnerving.

Rachel hums and Blaine turns to see something wistful in her eyes as she slowly writes down the location, nodding her head before connecting eyes with him for a brief moment.

"That's a beautiful location."

There's something in her voice that makes it sound like she knows from experience. But the moment to consider that is ruined when Kurt opens his mouth about wanting a gazebo.

This is how it goes for the next hour and a half-the bakery, the caterers, the flowers and photographer and invitations. Blaine doesn't open his mouth to say anything other than 'yeah' or 'hmm' or even a thoughtful 'I think...' before Kurt stampedes over his sentence like the antelope who killed Simba's fucking father in the _Lion King_. Kurt has all these ideas, and really, he's glad his soon to be husband is eager-wanting everything to go a certain way so that their day is perfect.

But that's just the thing. It sounds like Kurt's day and not his, nothing remotely _theirs _about any of the things he's mentioned today.

He licks his lips, playing with an empty sugar packet on the table as Rachel clears her throat. It's all been about what Kurt's had in mind, what Kurt wants-

"And Blaine," He looks up at the mention of his name, the first time Rachel's called him anything other than Mr. Anderson. "What do _you _want?"

It's bold to say the least; obviously inferring something other than the gauge at his opinion. He swallows and sits up further in his seat, smiling weakly at her as Kurt runs into a tangent about the pricelessness of spending your money on satin and lace that doesn't look prostitute cheap. Blaine looks down and avoids her eyes, his nails scraping the edge of the table.

It was a good question, one he wasn't sure he has the answer to.

_-January-_

"I think we should get a new wedding planner."

Blaine rolls his eyes, pushing through a traffic swarm of people as snow falls steadily midday in the heart of the city. He clutches the phone between his shoulder and ear, waving his arm for a cab but then decides against it, figuring he can walk there faster because of the amount of car pile up the weather has caused.

"Why?" He asks, taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee. "Because she doesn't like your idea for a choreographed waltz for us and all of the bridespeople?" He frowns as Kurt says something to his secretary and laughs, not listening to him for the fifth time during this single phone call. "Kurt?"

"Sorry? No, not just that. She doesn't like _any _of my ideas."

_Probably because they're ridiculous. _"Probably because she's a professional, Kurt, look, let's give her a chance." He glances up at the street signs, two blocks away okay, he can do this. He can actually make it somewhere on time. "I'm meeting with her in a few minutes to go over this dance routine or at least meet the guy who's going to teach us. We can talk later tonight, alright?"

Kurt sighs, dramatic and bored. "Fine. Tonight."

Blaine hesitates outside the dance studio and bites his lip. The clipped tone tells him he's pissed but he's not sure what he's supposed to do about that. "I love-" The call ends before he can finish.

0000

The studio is warm and comforting, it smells of fresh leather and wood with a hint of lemon from cleaning supplies. He shrugs off his coat, adjusting his gray sweater as he runs a hand through his hair, dislodging the slight bit of gel he has woven between the locks. He smiles as he sees Rachel, wearing a stunning professional navy dress, licking at her knees, white stilettos on her feet.

"Hi." He breathes; what he's allowed to look alright? He bites his tongue before smiling at her again and shakes her hand when she offers.

"You're on time." Is all she says, a laugh tainting her voice.

He smirks, setting his things down on a nearby chair where he can see her coat and purse along with her professional binder that has his and Kurt's name on it. "I know, trust me, it's a surprise to us both."

She's about to say something else, joke with him maybe that ironically he's on time because Kurt isn't there to glare at him for being late but a man comes into the room, clapping his hands enthusiastically upon seeing them. Rachel's told him a little bit about this dance choreographer that she's hired to help him and Kurt learn this so called waltz that his fiancé _needs _for their wedding. He's French, straight off the plane from France, earning his dancing career in the big apple to fulfill a long awaited dream.

"Bonjour!" He smiles, tipping his head at the both of them.

Rachel smiles softly and clears her throat. "Blaine this is Jacques Dupont, Jacques this is Blaine Ander-"

"Oui! Merveilleux!" He claps his hands again and Blaine opens his mouth to ask how this is exactly going to work because if he doesn't come home with a full report about this waltz Kurt is going to have his balls-and not at all in a fun way.

"Beau couple." Jacques pushes his arms out and touches Blaine on his arm and Rachel on her shoulder and...Blaine frowns; confused.

He knows a bit of the language, not a lot however because the only thing he's had to work with is Sebastian's sexual phrases leaking out of his mouth in dirty French when he's plastered but 'couple' seems like an obvious translation and-

Oh.

Oh wait.

"Oh...no, we're not-" He starts, pointing to the space between him and Rachel but Jacques is having none of it, his hands now pressing them together. The force is enough to knock Rachel into him, her heels slipping on the wood to a point where he has to wrap his arms around her waist to keep her upright.

"I'm so sorry." Rachel mumbles, trying to keep her skirt from riding up as Jacques claps again and rushes to the other side of the room to press a disc into a player.

"What is it with this guy and clapping, you'd swear it was a French thing."

"I had no idea he had misunderstood my intentions." Blaine looks down at her and notices the blush painting a pretty and dark pink on her cheekbones. She's embarrassed but he can't help but smile because seriously, a French man with a fetish for clapping has just pressed them together getting ready to teach them the waltz-what about that is not supposed to be funny?

"It's alright." He assures her, smiling comfortingly as she looks up at him and leans down to whisper in her ear. "You know, we might as well appease him-there's really nothing scarier than an angry Frenchman, trust me." He's satisfied when she giggles and stands upright, her fingers smoothing out her skirt as his hands rest respectively on her hips.

She curtsies, which pulls a laugh from his chest, and he figures that's a signal if any to start following Jacques lead as to what he's supposed to be doing. The dance is simple, smooth, elegant-even though Rachel keeps stepping on his toes.

"You don't dance well, do you?"

She huffs, her bangs shuddering from the slight influx of air from her lips. Her brow is concentrated, teeth biting her lower lip as she looks at her feet. "So sorry, missed out on my dance lessons in Paris last week."

He smirks, straightening his back as Jacques leans over and forces Rachel's chin up so that she's eyelevel with him. The color of her eyes are pretty, reminds him of caramel dunked in coffee. He makes a 'tisking' noise a few times, "For shame."

They're quiet for some time, the soft sounds of a piano and Jacques random clapping is the only thing keeping them company before Rachel clears her throat.

"I wanted to be a dancer when I was little." She says, softly, like it betrays her current job profession. He's not sure why she's telling him this, they barely know eachother, but the closeness of their bodies, the intimacy crackling between them because of the dancing must strike a sense of trustworthiness in her; security.

He finds it more endearing than he should; especially since it's obvious she'd be a terrible dancer, with her stepping on his feet every five seconds. "Do you like being a wedding planner?" Blaine asks, his fingers pressing into her lower back.

She bites her lip, chews on the skin a moment, the action making something bubble in his stomach. "Creating someone's perfect day for them?" She looks up at him, brown boring into hazel. "What wouldn't I like about that?"

There's something sad there that he wants to ask about.

But he doesn't.

Instead, "I want lilacs." It confuses her a moment but then understanding shades her eyes. "You asked me what I wanted."

"That was a month ago."

"I know what I want now."

She smiles, slow. "Do you." It's not a question and he's confused at why it sounds so different compared to a statement.

When he goes home later that night and Kurt asks him how the dance lesson went and meeting their instructor, "Très magnifique," is all Blaine says and he thinks,

Yeah, that just about covers it.

_-February-_

Blaine is ten minutes late as he rounds the corner to enter the east side of Central Park.

He's slipped on three sheets of ice and has only managed to fall once, his lower back throbbing as he makes it to a park bench where Kurt is waiting, his glare as icy as the patches in the cement that his shoes have slipped on.

"Sorry," Blaine pants, his breath is puffing like thick cigarette smoke as he tries to catch his breath. "Parent teacher conference ran late."

Kurt stands and throws out an empty cup that has a tea bag tag sticking out of the lid into the trash can with a heavy sigh. "Looks like your lateness is rubbing off on our wedding planner because she's late _as well._"

He licks his lips, which are chapped from the cold weather and ignores the accusation in Kurt's tone. "Well, I'm sure she has a good reason. She does have other weddings to plan other than ours, you know."

"I'm not paying her to be late."

Blaine bites his lower lip. "Cut her some slack."

He raises his eyebrows and it's not until Kurt snaps at him that he realizes his tone may have been a bit exasperated. "Cut her some slack? Or do you mean _you_?"

"I just..." He rubs his forehead a moment with a gloved hand. "You talk to me like I keep doing this on purpose, like I _want _to be late so you can scream at me everytime I'm ten minutes past the time allotted on the clock."

Kurt puts his hands on his hips. "Ever since you took this job it's like you can't read a watch."

Blaine sighs. "You know that's not it. I'm busy...I'm...trying to do something I love and find a flow for it. You didn't hear me complain when you spent nights at Vogue trying to get your clothing line up off the ground." He counters, getting upset now, the indignant attitude of Kurt and his feelings about his job coming to a head.

He's been like this for awhile now, his soon to be husband undermining his job like it doesn't mean much because it's not an executive chair at Vogue, because he'll never make the same amount of money as him, because he comes home with paint _all over his clothes. _He wants to know where the boy that he asked to marry is, the one with bright eyes and kind smiles and a love for fashion and New York, the one who always encouraged him to do something he loved and never tried to make him feel bad for pursuing his dream.

"That was different." He sticks his hands in his pockets. "I just think...you have so much more to offer New York than a minimum wage job of teaching snot nosed brats how to paint."

Anger fizzles in Blaine's veins. "Don't talk about my kids like that." He snaps, scoffing as he looks away from him. "You sound just like my father."

"Well maybe your dad has a point." Kurt says calmly, which just makes him a whole lot angrier. "I just feel like..." He places his hands on Blaine's shoulders, squeezes, speaks to him in this condescending tone like he's trying to convince a small child of something. "You're beautifully talented, you used to sing all the time in high school-what about all those plans you had about going for broadway?"

Blaine shakes Kurt's hands off of him, leaving behind imprints of his fingers in his skin, a weight he can feel long after they're gone. "Plans change, Kurt."

Kurt sighs, shaking his head-he's frustrated and Blaine's hurt, an ache in his chest so sharp it feels like someone is stabbing him in his sternum. "You know, I'm not exactly in the mood to plan a wedding right now."

Blaine opens and closes his mouth, nodding his head as a harsh intake of air threatens to fill his chest. He swallows thickly, sniffling as a gust of wind whips through the park.

"Do tell Rachel that I apologize, it's well past my lunch hour anyways." He brushes past Blaine, clipping his shoulder lightly. Blaine closes his eyes. "Whenever she _does _decide to show up!"

The park is silent; whispering wind through the bare branches and the sound of Kurt walking away.

00000

It's a half n hour later before Blaine decides that he should leave Central Park, Rachel is an _hour _late and he knows he has no business to comment on people being less than early but his ass is freezing from sitting on an ice cold park bench and he can really use a cup of hot coffee and a scorching shower. He stands and sticks his hands in his pockets, starting to walk out of the park when he hears his name being called and turns to see Rachel running towards him from the opposite end of the pathway lined with park benches and trees. She's wearing jeans this time at least with long black boots, a white coat wrapped tightly around her downed with a red scarf and matching knit hat. Her binder is being held to her chest as she rushes toward him, her one hand holding onto her hat.

"You're late." He all but snaps at her as she reaches him, a frown pulling on her pretty lips-not used to him speaking to her in such a rude tone. He sighs and shakes his head, running a hand over his face as he takes a moment and reevaluates how to approach this situation differently. "Sorry," He says, voice softer. "I'm sorry."

"No," Rachel shakes her head. "_I'm_ sorry, one of my clients was late this morning and it threw all of my meetings off track, I should have called one of you to let you know but I was having trouble keeping up with my calender let alone giving myself time to make phone calls."

Blaine nods softly, giving her a small smile. "It's alright, don't worry about it. You're here now."

"I am but...I'm sorry, is Kurt here?" She looks around to her right, like she might have missed him on her run over here.

He swallows and shakes his head, moving to rub the back of his neck, there's a tense muscle there that makes him wince when he presses too hard. "No, he had to get back to work." He leaves out all the implications of an earlier fight with him but it's like Rachel is picking up on that anyways, a certain amount of concern in her eyes.

He can tell she wants to ask him if he's alright and what exactly happened with Kurt.

But she doesn't.

And he can't tell if he's more relieved or disappointed.

"Looks like it's just you and me then." She says with a soft smile, sliding up next to him and opening her arm.

He smiles softly, can't help himself, and wraps his arm around hers as they get ready to walk towards the Bethesda Terrace. "Looks like."

0000

The water is frozen in the Bethesda Fountain, which should be expected since temperatures aren't supposed to reach out of the thirties today, but Blaine finds himself missing the calm trickling sound that accompanies the warmer months. He glances over at Rachel as she continues to tell him the layout for the wedding, the vows in the lower passage of the terrace, the procession of guests, the flowers decorating aspects of the fountain and trees and benches nearby. It sounds...beautiful, perfect even, something Kurt will love-and that's where he stops his line of thinking because the last thing he really wants to think about right now is his fiancé, even though they are planning their damn wedding. His fingers are frozen as he buys Rachel and him coffee from a vendor nearby and he listens intently as she describes the romantics of a June wedding, the thoughts of sunshine and unbearable heat warming him from the inside out as hints of snowflakes start to fall from the sky.

"I was married once." The shift in conversation is sudden but Blaine easily keeps up with the conversation. It's an answer to a long awaited question that reflects into her eyes when they look at one another.

He could see the sadness there, the hesitation, the careful planning, the ache-but he was always uncertain about _why_. That was it; she had been married once, the past. The past of an expensive wedding planner; he feels like he's getting the veil lifted off his eyes, like he's finally seeing behind the curtain into her life. It must be interesting, she dives into her client's lives, knows so much about them, spends a year submerged in them and in their life, their love, but they probably know nothing about her.

Other than how she can plan a hell of a wedding.

He waits for her to continue, sipping his coffee.

She looks up at him and offers him a shy smile. "We were married for four years but..." She swallows, looks away. "Cancer."

His eyebrows scrunch together and he nods softly, understanding; he knows. "My grandma has throat cancer," He admits, like that somehow makes Rachel's loss easier. "I just, I know how hard that can be."

Rachel squeezes her styrofoam cup, he can see the indentations from her nails. He approaches another topic, so she doesn't have to talk about it anymore-he appreciates her trying to offer a piece of herself, he's glad she did; he's caught himself many times falling in love with the concept of getting to know her, getting to know the woman behind the planner, behind the overbooking, prices and cake trials. She's sweet, she's got a melodic laugh; there's something dark and sad to her, hidden behind bright brown eyes and an easy smile...but that's alright, it doesn't break her.

It makes her stronger and that, that what's he likes most about her.

Even though he really shouldn't.

"If you had to pick a month for a wedding," Blaine looks at her as they walk towards the fountain. "What would you choose?"

She's thrown off by the sudden question and he doesn't mean to distract her from going back into what she wants to say about all of the plans she's been lacing together for the past two months with Kurt's examples and her hard work but-he just can't talk about June anymore. Just like she can't talk about her last marriage. He can't do it. He can't talk about sunshine or heat or flowers or cake or flower girls or the awful color lilac or Kurt, he can't _do it._

"Oh, well," She chews on her lower lip, sips her coffee. "May, I suppose. Something for spring...maybe April but I'd be too concerned with it raining."

Blaine smiles, thumbing the tab on the top of his coffee lid. "Hmm, I wanted an October wedding," He sits on the edge of the fountain, watching her do the same and shiver at the contact of the cold concrete. "You know, the beginning of the month when the leaves change and it's not bitter out yet-just brisk, the smell of bonfires in the air." He swallows and draws his coat closer to his chest.

"Did you tell Kurt that?"

It's funny how she knows just what to ask. "Yeah...the autumn colors clashed with his lilac designs." He rubs the back of his neck. "So October was out."

She sighs, contemplates saying something, he can tell by the way her eyes look over the frozen water in the fountain like she expects it to melt and reflect in the dim lit sun peaking through the clouds overhead. He's gotten to know her expressions the past few months, she's chewing on her lower lip, wanting to say something-it's right there on the tip of her tongue but he knows she's trying hard not to be disrespectful.

He presses her.

"What?"

"I just usually have more input from both sides when planning a wedding." A very kind way of saying that Kurt is a perfectionist and he's making all the decisions for a day that supposed to be about both of them. "Has he chosen _anything _that you've wanted too?"

Blaine's eyes fall to his coffee before looking up at her, taking her in, a small smile on his lips as he brings the rim of the cup to his lips. "Maybe one thing."

He wonders if she can catch the hinted implication.

The blush on her face tells him _'yes'_.

_-March-_

Blaine forgives Kurt on a Wednesday; the heat of their fight back in February in Central Park still popping in his veins every time Kurt takes one of his shirts from the laundry basket to wash, covered in paint, clicking his tongue off the roof of his mouth in disapproval. He doesn't like holding grudges, especially against his husband to be, so he considers what Kurt was saying and how he was saying it. He's convinced himself that Kurt was just trying to tell him that...he's proud of what he's accomplished but his calling has to surpass being a fourth grade teacher.

At least that's what he tells himself.

He doesn't want to be angry with Kurt; not when both of them are so stressed and trying to plan their wedding. He knows Kurt has his best interests at heart and that everything had just come out the wrong way-that's what Blaine likes to think, anyways, because the alternative sort of hurts too much. It's probably something he should stop doing, assuming; he's always tried to see the best in people and their intentions. Something Sebastian has told him countless times to knock that the fuck off- "_People say what they mean and mean what they say_," he's told him, gives him one of those once overs while he says it, which distracts Blaine and makes him wonder if he even means what _he's _saying. _"You give people the benefit of the doubt and that's why you're a universal doormat." _

Blaine scowls when he thinks about it, is able to recount that conversation in his head verbatim because he's sort of more than right. He often doesn't get what he wants because he's too busy trying to please others, especially when it came to Kurt.

He tells himself he's going to stop doing that, that he's going to become something other than a doormat...he'll start _today-_

Blaine glances at his phone as it chirps on his desk and swoops it up, answering it with a swipe of his thumb on the screen. "Hey, you."

There's a pause. "Hey, baby." He can hear the smile in Kurt's voice and Blaine instantly knows that the other wants something from him. "What are you up to?"

He licks his lips and taps his pen off his notebook pad. "I'm trying to plan a field trip for my class to MoMa and integrate some sort of project based around the whole experience...why?"

"I need you to do me a favor," He doesn't even pause to let Blaine ask what it is before he continues. "I need you to meet Rachel for the cake tasting today, I can't make it."

Blaine frowns. "I thought we were doing that together after our work schedules?"

"And I was but...we had a buyer fly in from Japan and he's interested in my clothing line, Blaine. My line, can you imagine!" He makes this excited noise that almost makes the edges of Blaine's mouth quirk up. Almost. "The meeting moved to later in the day so I won't be able to meet for the cake tasting but I trust you in your decision making."

Blaine bites his lip, goes to open his mouth, words on the tip of his tongue-

"You're not as busy as I am, right? I mean...you can meet with Rachel in," He must look at his watch. "Fifteen minutes?"

"Kurt I'm sort of busy myself, I was probably going to be a bit late to the cake tasting anyways and I know how much you hate that I just..this field trip is really important and I have to have it all setup for when I present the idea to the principal tomorrow."

"Blaine, please. You know how much I've been waiting for something like this."

Blaine swallows and closes his eyes, running through possible ideas in his head. How to say no, how to say 'well this field trip is important to me' or 'and I haven't been waiting for my own classroom, my own students, my own field trips'? Why was it so acceptable for him to trade his dream for Kurts? Because it wasn't as ambitious as his? Because it wasn't as important or prestigious?

"But-"

"Oh, crap, have to go honey! The buyers just walked in! I love you, make good choices." He hangs up the phone before listening to Blaine's reply.

He sighs softly and sets his phone down, glancing down at the plans on his desk, unfinished, begging him to make the proper adjustments to be ready for tomorrow. He closes his folder and stuffs it into his satchel, moving to get up and leave his classroom behind; he knows Rachel has other clients to get to and he's supposed to meet her in less than ten minutes.

Blaine wonders what happened to his whole-'I'm going to stop being a doormat routine' and be able to tell someone else _no _and just figures, well, apparently today's not that day.

0000

He smiles softly when he sees Rachel waiting for him outside of Black Hound Bakery, looking patient as ever, one of her bright red pumps clicking in beat with the second hand of the clock. She gives him a bright smile and a half wave when she sees him across the street, the eagerness she displays making his stomach do this thing where it drops and swirls all at the same time. It's not surprising that Blaine finds her attractive; with her deep coffee brown eyes and long curls sweeping smoothly against her shoulders, her bright smile along with her slender body that fits perfectly into her dresses and suit skirts. He hasn't noticed her long legs or tiny waist...and he especially hasn't notice how amazing her voice is. He's surprised to learn that she's just a wedding planner, that she doesn't even spend her spare time singing or performing. But sometimes when she's distracted, writing something down, running her fingers through her hair, walking to a certain destination with a million thoughts at once juggling in her head-the softest humming escapes her lips. And it's honestly one of the prettiest things that Blaine's ever heard.

Not that he's told her or anything.

He's spent some time getting to know her over these past few months, seeing one another outside of planning his and Kurt's wedding. It's been nothing major, ever since that walk in the park on that cold February day, they've met almost every other Friday to walk the long pathway to Bethesda Fountain. He buys her coffee or tea, she offers him tidbits of her life that she's never really shared with anyone before, he tells her about issues with Kurt, how much he loves his teaching job, she talks about her two gay dads and how much she loved singing in high school. He wonders why she didn't try to pursue her passion in New York and she wonders why he never speaks up about what he wants.

She answers his question about being a wedding planner instead of auditioning for broadway, he doesn't (or won't, he's not sure) answer her question about not vouching for something he wants.

Rachel gets him; in a way that Kurt doesn't, gets him in a different way than Sebastian. It's comforting, having another friend he can rely on, depend on, talk to about really important or even mundane things. He likes spending time with her and he can tell she likes seeing him.

It should bother him that sometimes when they're together that Kurt barely breaches the forefront of his brain.

But it doesn't.

"Hey," He smiles, reaching her after he crosses the street.

"Hi," She glances behind him and across the street, expects a semi-taller male with outlandish clothes. "Where's Kurt?"

He sighs, sticks his hands in his pockets. "He's busy, a meeting for his clothing line." He avoids her eyes, can see the question in them, the pity or understanding maybe. "_But_ don't worry," He turns his head back to smile at her. "I'm an expert cake taster."

She giggles. "Well good to know," She tilts her head towards Black Hound Bakery. "Should we?"

He takes his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms over his chest, looking up at the hound dog insignia-he's heard Kurt talk about it before, it's expensive, matching his fiancé's taste to a T. He scrunches his nose and rubs the back of his head before reaching for Rachel's arm as she goes to go inside.

"Hey," He squeezes her elbow. "I have another idea..."

She glances down at his hand on her arm but he doesn't remove it. "What do you mean? Kurt said he wanted some...three tiered cake from here, he's already made twenty selections for you to try."

He takes his hand off her and sticks them in his pockets again, shrugs his shoulders. "Well, I don't want any of them," There's a hint of a smile on her face. "I want something else."

A glitter of approval in Rachel's brown eyes. "Well then," She waves her hand in front of her. "Lead the way, Mr. Anderson."

Blaine opens his arm up for her to loop hers through and when she does so, he starts walking in the opposite direction of the bakery.

00000

"How did you even find this place?" Rachel asks him as he holds the door open for her, the little bell to signal that there's customers gently rapping against the glass.

Blaine smiles as he breathes in the heady scent of pastries mixed with the grounding of coffee, the warmth of the place hugging his body. He loves it here, wishes he had the time to stop in more often than the occasional scone or medium drip but now seems like a better time compared to any.

"Don't tell me you've never had a cake or pastry from Carson's Cakes before." Blaine deadpans, teasing her with a hint of seriousness in his tone.

Rachel blushes prettily but smirks a moment afterwards. "Can't say that I have."

He puts a hand on his heart and shakes his head. "I am aghast, honestly, thank goodness you have an expert cake taster to show you around." He winks, glancing around the small establishment for a table to sit at.

It's busy for a Tuesday afternoon but he's not surprised; the allure of cheap but amazingly great (and not burnt tasting) coffee and irresistible cupcakes and pastries has no problem hooking in a crowd. The owner, Lilly Carson, is just as sweet as her desserts and he smiles softly when she spots him from behind the counter.

"Blaine Anderson, you get over here and give me a hug before you even _think _about snagging a table!"

He smiles at Rachel and then moves through the crowd of people standing in line and others gathered at medium sized circular tables, chair backs to chair backs making it difficult for him to maneuver his body to her. She meets him halfway and he bends his body to engulf her in a solid hug; she smells like cookie dough and flour, her cheeks bright pink from working around an oven all day, hair tied back in a perfect bun, streaked with gray and hands soft from rolling dough. This was he was missing at the Black Hound Bakery-family, _love_, the kind of food that fills you up physically but also emotionally. That sentiment that's attached with every icing dollop and pastry fold.

When he pulls back she tries to ruffle his hair and if it was any one else he wouldn't have let her. She grins as she scratches her fingers in her hair, glancing at Rachel as she comes up beside them.

"So you come here often?" She asks with a soft smile.

Blaine smirks softly and shrugs his shoulder. "What do you mean...this is my first time here." He jokes, to which Lilly smacks his arm.

"Blaine has been coming here since he moved here," Lilly informs her with a proud smile. "Though I haven't seen him around here in a while."

It's said rather pointedly, to which Blaine gives her a guilty smile. "It's hard dropping in for a morning muffin when I have to be at school at five-thirty." He sticks his hands in his pockets. "_But _I am here to try some of your best cakes." He licks his lips and looks at Rachel before continuing. "I'm getting married and I want your cake to be part of my wedding."

The look on Lilly's face is more than Blaine can ask for and a slow grin tugs at his lips as she motions for them to take the table to the side of the counter to enjoy free coffee as she sets up her selections in the kitchen.

"So you're not from New York?" Rachel asks, scrunching her nose in an adorable way as a server comes by with a few cups of on the house coffee for them.

Blaine smirks and holds her chair out for her so she can sit and then takes the one across from her. "No, born and bred in Ohio."

She hums and pours a sizable amount of cream in her coffee. "That would explain why you're so nice." She teases.

Blaine chuckles, shaking his head. He takes a long sip of coffee before remembering something she had told him during their many walks in Central Park. "Wait, you're from Ohio too, right? Uhm, Lima, if I remember correctly."

She nods. "What part of Ohio are you from?"

"Toledo," He runs his thumb along the rim of the cup. "So we were an hour apart this whole time," He tilts his head; it's supposed to sound like a joke, a twist of fate, some kind of joke of the universe. That two people who lived an hour apart their whole lives just so happened to meet in New York how many years later. But it sounds a lot deeper than that from his tone of voice. "Give or take."

Rachel bites her lip, her hands cupping her mug, soaking up it's warmth through the pores of her palms. "You said you did a lot of theater related things in high school? What was your favorite performance."

"I played Tony once, you know, West Side Story."

She grins. "You look like a Tony." She taps her spoon off the rim of her cup. "Funny you mention that musical because I was in the exact same one my Junior year."

"I was going to say," Blaine nods his head, his eyes trailing over her face.. "You definitely look like a Maria."

00000

Blaine's eyes tick back and forth between the five selections on the long metal table in the kitchen; Lilly has set them up so that they're out of traffic between waiters, runners and the bakers. He watches them for a moment, a well oiled machine, bringing in tickets of cinnamon buns, lemon scones and orange and cherry cupcakes and leaving with trays of pastries, hot tea and freshly baked cookies. He's missed this place more than he's let on-the strong scent of rolls and cakes and coffee stirring a resounding sensation of _home _that vibrates in his chest.

"Alright, I give up." Blaine announces, nodding at Rachel with a solid decision.

She laughs. "Sure, okay, just tell Kurt you don't want a cake for your wedding. I'm sure that'll go well." She sets down her portfolio with their names on it and puts her hands on her hips. "Which ones did you narrow it down to?"

He nudges two plates towards her. "Chocolate-almond cake with...chocolate ganache, and mocha buttercream," He bites his lip and picks up a fork. "Or _hazelnut-almond _cake with chocolate ganache, and raspberries."

"I thought you were supposed to be an expert cake taster?" Her one eyebrow rose before trying the chocolate-almond. "How have you not made an important decision between two equally exceptional choices?"

"Are you mocking me?"

She smiles a little at him and scrunches her nose; that action is enough of an answer, before trying the hazelnut-almond.

"Well?"

"Hazelnut-almond, definitely."

He frowns. "But the mocha buttercream..."

"Why did you even ask me if you were going to pout over icing?" She asks, smile firmly attached to her pink lips as she sets the fork down before crossing her arms over her chest.

"Because I thought you were capable of making good decisions." He smirks when she gasps and pushes him lightly. "What? I'm just saying! Did you even try the mocha buttercream?"

She rolls her eyes. "Of course."

He swipes a little of it onto the prongs of his fork. "I don't think you did."

Rachel barely has time to say anything else before Blaine flicks his wrist, sending a glob of buttercream icing at her, the dollop landing on her chin. He smirks, licking his lips.

He motions to the space between her mouth and chin, along her jaw, holding back a series of laughs bubbling up from deep in his chest. "You got a little something..." He barely finishes his sentence before a mass of icing ends up on his cheek, a small gasp leaving his lips, Rachel's satisfied grin shining in his direction.

Blaine pretends to look shocked before picking up another slice of cake, he thinks it might be the red velvet before wrapping his strong arm around her lower slender back, smirking as she gives a playful squeal.

Her hand presses on his chest as she giggles. "Blaine, no!"

"I think you have one more cake to try." He manages to get a sliver of pink icing on her nose and laughs when she presses her fingers into his ribs, one of his most ticklish spots.

It gets him to stop, setting the plate down to grab at her wrist as her chest slides against his own. His breathing is leaving in short pants, puffing gently against her face. He's so close he can see the soft yellow stripes in her chocolate brown eyes, can smell the mixture of coffee and cake on her breath, can feel her heartbeat against his sternum.

His eyes flicker down to her lips, smiling a little as his hand comes up to brush the icing off her nose. It should bother him, how tender the gesture is, how her body tenses at it, how she leans further into him as their hips lineup-

But somehow it's the last thing on his mind.

"Have you chosen a-" Lilly breaks off as she enters the kitchen and sees them, making Blaine and Rachel jump at least an inch apart.

The blush is prominent on Blaine's cheeks, traveling all the way up to the tips of his ears. Rachel can't even looking at him, suddenly the floor has much more interesting looking tiles. He clears his throat and glances over at Lilly, trying to wipe the icing off his face with the back of his wrist.

She has a knowing look on her face, hinting at something that's probably very obvious in her eyes but Blaine can't tell what it is.

"I'll take the hazelnut-almond?"

_-April-_

He hasn't spoken to Rachel since the cake incident, if he can even call it that. He's fucked up and that's saying the least; Kurt hates the flavor of the cake...so that just tops the whole fucking debacle off. There's no more Friday walkthroughs for Central Park, he can hardly get her on the phone unless Kurt calls Rachel through his cell phone to ask monotonous questions about the lace or how many decorated fold out chairs does she think could fit for their venue around Bethesda Fountain.

He knows he messed up.

Blaine's not a cheater, he would never do anything to jeopardize his relationship with Kurt. He loves him, fuck, he loves him so much-or, maybe he loves the person he used to be. Before Vogue. Before New York. Before the snappy replies about his job or his clothes or abandoning him for fashion shows and clothing lines.

He has no idea what happened between him and Rachel at the bakery but he knows that it can't happen again. He's marrying his fiancé and he won't let anything jeopardize his chances out walking down the aisle. He loves Kurt and really, that's all there is to it.

And that's the kind of mindset he drills into himself when he walks into a flower shop near Vogue to pick out some arrangements with Kurt and Rachel.

Or at least he tries to.

To be honest he's spent the last hour trying get Rachel's attention, catch her eye, inch KUrt in one direction just to pull her into another to talk for a fraction of a second. But she's done a good job at shutting him out, blocking him from conversation, dragging Kurt into mindless dribble about hydrangeas and yellow or pink colored roses. He's nearly thinks about a million different ways he can kill himself with a soil shovel that he's passed a few times looking at flowers.

"Oh, Blaine, what about tulips!" Kurt pauses and runs his thumb along a few purple ones.

Blaine shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck; he says nothing but Kurt gets the idea that he doesn't want tulips. He looks over at Rachel to see if she's even looking at them but she just smiles politely at Kurt, writes something in her planner and continues down the row and flowers.

His fingers press together the tiny bell looking shaped petals of Lily of the Valley; it's his favorite flower, the attractive fragrance reminding him of summers spent with grandparents baking cookies.

Kurt sighs, like he's annoyed Blaine's not jumping on the tulips bandwagon. "Alright, fine. What about the Calla Lily?" He points to the box of flowers, all of the white petals weighed down thick streaks of yellow pollen.

Blaine can just feel his nose tingling at the damn sight of it and his eyes widen as Kurt picks it up and waves it front of his face.

"It's pretty right? I know it's probably a typical spring flower but I hear a direct translation is 'magnificent beauty'."

He swats the flower away but that just seems to make it worst, his nose flaring as he hurriedly presses his face to his shoulder before sneezing.

"Oh! Oh, honey, I'm so sorry." Blaine vaguely feels Kurt shuffle behind him and set the flower back, brushing his hands on his pants (which within itself is unheard of) as he sneezes again. "I completely forgot you were allergic."

"I think we should go with roses." He mumbles.

He shakes his head as Kurt smiles apologetically but it's Rachel who comes out of nowhere and hands him a tissue from her purse. He manages a quick thank you before another harsh sneeze escapes him and he buries his nose into the tissue, blowing quickly and groaning, hoping that's the last of them. Blaine finally catches Rachel's eye as Kurt turns to peruse through the roses, noticing the slight unamusement coloring her face. Yeah, he gets that look. He finds it a bit embarrassing his fiancé can't remember which flowers he's allergic to either.

Blaine sniffles and stuffs the used tissue into his back pocket, opening his mouth to say something to Rachel but she turns at the last moment, making frustration bubble in his veins. He waits until Kurt is further down the line of flowers, asking a worker at the flower shop for the difference in price for a bouquet of hydrangeas with peonies and peonies with roses, before gently latching onto Rachel's wrist and pulling her in the opposite direction.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Rachel hisses, tugging her arm from his grasp.

"You wouldn't answer my calls." He snaps, glancing down the aisle to make sure Kurt isn't making his way towards them. "Look, I'm...I'm sorry about before, about what happened at Lilly's-"

"Don't," She shakes her head, running her hands down her dress. "Don't apologize for something you're not sorry for."

He bites his lip and swallows, running a hand over his face. His nose is still a bit tickly paired with his eyes itching...but he has more important things to deal with right now. He wants to shake his head, push her away, deny what she's saying because it's _not true_-

Blaine is sorry, he is. He's sorry for pulling her close and feeling her heartbeat against his ribs, for feeling her breath on his face, for getting that fucking icing on her face and for nearly kissing her. He's sorry for lying to Kurt about the whole thing.

He _is _sorry...but he doesn't regret it happening. And he wants to say how those are two very different things.

"I just, I didn't mean for it to happen. I don't want-"

She laughs, drying, glares at him. "And I'm supposed to take advice from you on _wanting _things?" Rachel shakes her head, running a frustrated hand through her long curls. "You don't know _what _the hell you want, you can't make any decisions for yourself."

Blaine feels a soft blush cover his cheeks. "That's not true." He denies but it sounds wrong even to him.

"Oh I'm sorry, you chose the flavor for a _cake _and a _flower_!" Her voice is strained, exasperated. "Newsflash, Blaine, those aren't big decisions, those are _options."_

He rolls his eyes and fists fingers through his curls. "Typical I try and apologize for something and you make it nearly fucking impossible."

"I can't do this," She tries to lower her voice because of other customers making their ways through the flower aisles. "I can't...be your planner anymore."

"Don't...you can't abandon us so close to the wedding, we're _two _months away." Blaine scrambles to grasp her elbow as she turns around to walk away; there is something all too final sounding about her tone.

She whirls around and angrily pulls her elbow from his hand. "Why did you and Kurt decide to get married?" The lividness in her voice doesn't really match her question but it's funny how well Blaine's gotten to know her in these past five or so months.

She's hurt, he can tell that much, which means all of her emotions about this situation are firing in her brain at the same time; trying to tell her different things to say, to feel. It gets confusing, it gets frustrating, she lashes out at the closest thing to her-and it just so happens that Blaine is getting bulk of it (which he figures is more than well deserving, seeing as how he's the cause of it as well).

"Aren't you in the business of knowing why people get married? You _are _a wedding planner aren't you?" Blaine snaps back, can't help himself. He feels backed into a corner, like she's honing in on something he doesn't want her to know...even though he's not quite sure what it is yet. "We wanted to get married because we loved each other." He says it like it should be obvious.

Rachel stares at him for a long while, though he's not sure why, she's trying to gauge something-that at least is obvious. He's getting antsy, wonders where Kurt is, wonders why she's staring at him like she's trying to figure out if she should say something or not.

_Just say it,_ he wants to tell her...because it can't be worse than anything his head is conjuring up at her silence.

She finally does. "Well in my 'all knowing' experience of being a _planner_, usually people choose to get married because they love one another...not past tense."

He narrows his eyes at her; she's taking his words and twisting them out of context. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Rachel scoffs, puts her hands on her hips, it accentuates her tiny waist. "No, but you know what I _do _know? I know what I _want_, at least," She shakes her head, like she's disappointed in him-and that bothers him more than he cares to admit. "And being your wedding planner isn't on that list."

She stalks past him, a storm out that would probably make Kurt jealous and all he can do is turn around and watch her go-not sure what to say or do.

_What do you want, Blaine Anderson? _

The question always seems simple enough until he has to answer it.

"Where is Rachel going?"

He turns to see Kurt standing there with a bunch of hydrangeas. He swallows and shrugs his one shoulder. "Other client, I guess."

"Other client? What am I _paying _her for?" Kurt huffs and sets down the flower pot, the disruption of the flower and the soil uprooting pollen and sending it into the air. Blaine coughs and waves his hand in front of his face.

"So, roses right?" Blaine asks, changing the topic to anything but Rachel.

Kurt scrunches his nose. "God, no. How cheesy is it to have roses at a wedding? Boring and predictable. No, hydrangeas," Kurt picks up the plant again and smiles, smelling the light blue tinted petals. "Those will be perfect with my color scheme."

Blaine shakes his head. No...he had actually _chosen _something he wanted, he wanted roses. He didn't care how predictable or boring that made him.

"Besides, roses kind of remind me of funerals, you know." He shivers. "Morbid."

Blaine rolls his eyes. "There are a ton of different roses...we can even do that thing and dye the white petals to match your color scheme."

Kurt's not having it, not even listening to what he has to say now, has tuned him out to ask a worker how many dozens of hydrangea bouquets they can buy at once.

"What do you think, honey, how many do we need? I'd say we should start with at least a hundred."

It's the type of question that doesn't really need his answer, in fact, he's almost certain Kurt's gotten into this habit where he asks him something but it's more like he's thinking out loud because he doesn't want or need Blaine's opinion.

Kurt glances to the left of him and gasps, running his fingers over a large leaf. "Oh, maybe lilies. Blaine? What do you think...hydrangeas or lilies?"

Blaine sneezes in response. Kurt decides what he wants anyways.

0000

Blaine calls the wedding off on a Sunday, during a baseball game on TV-Pirates are losing to the Cubs, two to nothing but he likes the idea of an underdog team, the fact that they'll more than likely swoop up from behind without anyone realizing and take what they want, a winning bat hit and a homerun...and Kurt tries to take the remote from him to change the channel to homes and gardens. Without asking him.

He flips, to say the least, the last seven months of frustration building up to his explanation of how Kurt just does things without fucking asking him first-and his soon to be ex-fiancé has a hard time understanding what this has to do with the remote.

Why Kurt doesn't understand that it has to do with everything _but _the damn remote is beyond him.

Kurt stares at him a long time before he opens up his mouth to say anything. He wishes he hadn't.

"What's the _matter _with you?" He demands, his hand resting on his one hip as he puts the remote on the coffee table. A beat passes, Blaine's heart skips. "This is about Rachel, isn't it?" He's pretty sure all the color drains from his face. "You've been like this ever since she resigned as our wedding planner."

Blaine sets his jaw. "This isn't about Rachel," though, he knows how unconvincing his voice sounds. "This is about us. About _you_."

Kurt scoffs, crosses his arms over his chest. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means what you think it means. I can't remember the last time where you actually asked my opinion about something."

"Stop being dramatic. I just asked you what you wanted for dinner and how you wanted our napkins embroidered for our wedding." Kurt turns to go into the kitchen when the oven beeps; Blaine doesn't wait for this conversation to stop because dinner is ready and follows right after him. "Or is that something you've stopped caring about because I feel like I'm doing everything by myself!"

Blaine's mouth falls open, he's damn near gaping at him like a dying fish, anger instantly boiling from his lower belly and shooting through his body. "You have got to be kidding me!" He screams, can't help it-their neighbors bang on the wall, telling them to kindly 'shut the fuck up'.

Kurt is shocked at his tone, the way he freezes, turns slowly to look at him after turning the stove off.

"I meant, when was the last time you've asked my opinion and actually gave a shit about it? Any time I try to tell you something that _I_ want for the wedding, you blow it off or make a rude comment about how blue isn't in season-"

"It's _not_." Kurt tries to interject.

"-and pick something you wanted in the first place anyways!" Blaine has to be red in the face now; he's aware he's screaming but he can't help it. All this pent up anger and frustration boiling at a low heat for _months_ is finally starting to bubble over the lid he tried to seal over top of it. "If I didn't know any better, it's like you're marrying _yourself _not me."

Kurt is quiet for a long moment, trying to recover from his outburst obviously, before he clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth and sighs.

"That sounded like it had been building up for quite a while."

Blaine blinks, swallows, has to restart part of his brain...because that was the last thing he had expected Kurt to say. "I...yeah." Is all he says.

"You're not happy, are you?"

He doesn't know what to say. Kurt looks dejected, his shock and anger diminishing into this look on his face that breaks Blaine's heart into pieces. Because he had loved him once, still does love him in a way-it's just, he wants to ask his fiance what happened that they've turned into these people he doesn't recognize. Doesn't want to recognize. Wants to ask him what happened to the man he fell in love with, why he let his work and New York change him into someone he doesn't know, why he hasn't let himself feel this way sooner.

"No." He says softly.

A beat.

"Do you like Rachel?"

Blaine shifts on his feet, looks down. "No," That sounds too quick, he shakes his head. "I don't know." Sounds more earnest, more revealing than he ever thought.

Kurt swallows, fingers his brown hair before standing straighter. "What do you want to do, Blaine?"

His eyes flicker to his and he feels his shoulders strug. "I don't...I don't know."

"No," Kurt whispers, eyes boring into his. "You do know. You just don't want to say it out loud."

Blaine wants to tell him he's wrong, wants to deny it, wants to pretend this never happened and just go back to watching homes and gardens like the other wants-but he knows he can't, knows the expression on his face and the audible swallow tells Kurt more than words can.

Kurt takes their dinner out of the oven and walks past him, the sound of his footsteps deafening as he reaches the front door. Blaine thinks he'll feel it as soon as Kurt leaves, the sensation that he's done something terribly wrong, the panic swelling in his stomach to fix it, the urge to run after him and apologize-

but he doesn't.

The door opens,

he waits,

it closes-

with a resounding click of the doorknob.

But all he feels is an overwhelming sense of freedom popping beneath his skin.

000000

It takes him forty-five minutes to take his cell phone out of his bedroom where it has been charging to set it on the kitchen counter in front of him.

Another ten to turn it on.

Another fifteen to press 'new message'.

And another five to word and re-word his text message to Rachel.

_Thanks for making me realize what I want._

He doesn't think he'll get an answer back; actually he's willing to bet that he won't. It's been a few weeks, April almost bleeding into May. He turns around to eat the dinner Kurt made for them (wonders if that's wrong, maybe he should throw it away) when he freezes-

His phone rings and vibrates against the table top.

-_A year later; May-_

Spring feels like it's taken forever to get there, winter holding it between its clutches with multiple snow storms, rain and a wind chill factor of below zero. As much as he loves winter, he likes spring-likes the idea of new flowers pressing through the frost, the hint of sun kissing his cheeks, the warmth enveloping his body like a long lost friend.

Renewal.

Starting fresh.

Everything that spring symbolizes.

He's late.

He guesses that shouldn't be a surprise anymore. His students were decorating masks today for a Shakespeare play and he's covered in paint, patches of glitter and swabs of glue. He's glad the principal lets him get away with wearing worn jeans and his favorite dark blue t-shirt that he stole from Cooper the last time he visited. He looks at his watch and jogs through Central Park, apologizing to an old lady as he nearly knocks her over while she feeds pigeons, blushing from his cheeks to the tips to his ears when she swears at him in Italian. He manages to get down to the Bethesda fountain with only being ten minutes late and honestly, that feels like some sort of accomplishment at this point.

At least she never minds when he's late. He doesn't even have to take out his cell phone before he hears her, wraps her arms around his waist from behind to bury her face in his shoulder. "Hi." She hums, standing up on her toes to hook her chin over his shoulder.

Blaine turns and smiles down at Rachel, cupping her cheek before curling a wayward piece of hair behind her ear. "Hey, you." He hums, kisses her forehead, lingering there for a long moment until she closes her eyes. "Sorry I'm late."

She beams up at him, her arms squeezing him around his waist. She tugs on his blue shirt before running her fingers through his messy curls. "You wouldn't be you on time." She teases before tugging on his hair a little. "I like your hair like this, no gel."

He scrunches his nose and kisses her lower lip. "Well, I certainly didn't have time to put any in this morning." He hums. "Someone," He tickles her sides, making her giggle. "Made me late."

She tries to swat his hands away. "It's not my fault you don't set your alarm clock in enough time for _distractions_!" She giggles around her words, successfully stopping Blaine's fingers from attacking her sides.

"So what's on the agenda for today? Before home and movies...and an anniversary dinner?"

Rachel smiles softly. "One whole year."

He laces his fingers with hers. "One year."

She bites her lip and kisses his cheek, his stomach fluttering in a new way that he's sure he'll never get used to.

"So, we could go have lunch and have a late dinner or we could just get tea...and go home and snuggle up on the couch until our dinner reservation."

Blaine bites his lower lip. "Hmm, such a tough decision."

She beams up at him, moving up on her toes to wrap her arms around his shoulders. "So," Her breath skitters across his lips. "Tell me, what do you want Blaine Anderson?"

He leans down and grazes his lips against hers, the answer oh very simple before he kisses her. "_You_."

It's a really nice feeling, knowing exactly what he wants, he's not sure how he's gotten that far without it.


End file.
